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It’s funny the way the brain hyper fixates on a random, meaningless thing and sexualizes it.
For Draco, it was tan lines.
He lay on the beach blanket next to his long time girlfriend hyper fixated on the way the skin of her hip was a full two shades lighter than that of her thigh. He ran a pale finger across the bare skin where her swim suit had hiked up at some point while she lazily turned the pages of her proclaimed ‘vacation book’.
Beach days were effortless for Hermione. Her olive complexion took the suns rays gracefully, where his pale skin had to be pampered like the bare bottom of a baby. Slathered in SPF something or other.
In all honesty, the beach was not Draco’s ideal vacation destination. But he had learned a thing or two about compromise over his years with Hermione.
She had humbled him, at the peak of his arrogance .
She had accepted him at the lows of his rock bottom.
She loved him, when the world deemed him as anything but worthy.
He absentmindedly pressed his finger further under the damp polyester fabric of her swimsuit. She, in return, absentmindedly push into his touch and let out a soft moan.
“Is the sun getting to be too much, lover?” She asked, shutting her book, and turning to face him, his hand slipping further under her suit.
“You, next to me, smelling of coconut, practically naked is getting to me.” he said in a low growl, his lips pressing in to kiss her shoulder, ending with a nip of her bronzed skin, “And these tan lines.” He said gripping her tight.
“Should we retire for the afternoon for a nap?” Hermione asked, her voice laced with desire.
“A nap sounds nice…but something else sounds better.”